


Beneath Our Castles

by orphan_account



Series: Match Bursting into Flame, Garden Bursting into Life [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Boys In Love, Gang AU, M/M, Organized Crime AU, ziall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-01-15 05:35:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1293265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Hey,” he greets him.  The blonde does a double take and then looks about himself comically, as if he’s expecting Zayn to be addressing someone else.<i></i></i><br/><i>“Uh, hey,” he replies uncertainly.<i></i></i><br/><i>Zayn grins a bit predatorily.  What a delicious accent.  He wants to know what this kid would sound like moaning into his ear.<i></i></i><br/>When Zayn, a low level lackey for a supremely unorganized London gang, flies to Ireland to carry out some business for his boss, he encounters a young man who somehow manages to change everything.  Alternatively, how Zayn and Niall, and Louis and Harry, tear themselves apart over and over again.<br/>Preqeul to “These Little Things That Bind Us,” but can be read as a stand-alone piece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Night We Met

**Author's Note:**

> So I locked myself out of my old account, and I've reuploaded this fic here so I can update it. Liam doesn't appear in this fic because the boys meet him in the sequel, "These Little Things That Bind Us." Enjoy!
> 
> Obviously this is a work of fiction and the following events are not meant to represent real life. Also, I don't know a ton about London's police force/gangs/geography.

The first time that Zayn sees Niall, he can’t stop himself from walking right up to him, even though he doesn’t know him from the next random bloke passing in the damp street. Zayn’s in a foreign country, if Ireland could be said to be a country foreign to the rest of United Kingdom (and Niall would remind him some time later that yes, some Irishmen would very much like for this to be case) on behalf of his boss, Paul. Zayn has been casually running heroin for Paul for quite some time now, ever since the man had aborted a teenaged Zayn’s short lived attempt to become a drug kingpin, and now Paul was beginning to trust him with some of the more complicated aspects of the business. So that’s why Zayn was currently in the middle of Ireland, which disappointingly had weather every bit as gloomy and rainy as London’s, in order to talk to some local about linking up his business with Paul’s. A new venture, Paul had termed it as he clapped Zayn on the back and gave him a plane ticket to Dublin. The drive to Mullingar down the N4 (because Zayn was a bit scared of trains, truthfully) had taken a couple of hours since the traffic was shit.

After the hellish drive, Zayn had spent all day in the corner of some seedy pub in an even seedier neighborhood of Mullingar. Despite this, the negotiations would likely take a couple of more days. The local man was hesitant to join up with Paul, as this action would directly challenge the powerful, highly organized gangs of Dublin. When Zayn and the man finally conclude their talks for the day, the sun has already been down for several hours. Zayn shakes hands with the man and his cronies and then wades out into the crowded section of the pub, which apparently turns into some sort of nightclub afterhours. God, does he need a drink.

Elbowing his way to the front of the drinks queue, Zayn waves a couple of pounds at the bartender. “Guiness, mate.” When in Rome. Zayn takes a sip and immediately makes a face at the bitter taste of the beer. He usually orders straight up liquor, but doesn’t particularly feel like sticking out of the crowd any further than he already does. Zayn grimaces and smooths down his spiky black hair. He hadn’t styled it into its usual quiff, but with his dark skin and black skinny jeans he sticks out like a sore thumb from the freckled, sports jersey and polo clad regulars anyway.

Zayn stands alone along the wall for a couple of more minutes, bobbing his head and sipping the beer. The bar is playing The Rolling Stones for some reason, a pleasant surprise. Perhaps he does like Ireland after all. He scans the writhing mass of people uninterestedly, unable to spot an attractive, unattached woman. All of the cute ones have their arms wrapped around their tall, jovial boyfriends. A couple of the single guys look promising, but he’s unsure of how to approach a man here, in unfamiliar territory. He doesn’t want to make a wrong move and get his lights punched out. He had learned that the hard way. The music changes to an upbeat Ke$ha song and Zayn grimaces again, chugging the remainder of his beer. Might as well go outside and have a cigarette rather than listening to this shit. He snakes his way through the dance floor and out of the front door of the bar, to the refrains of “This place about to blow…”

Zayn wanders a couple of feet from the club and lights up. That’s when he notices him, leaning up against the side of a nearby building. He has one leg folded up behind him, pushing back against the wall, and he’s also smoking a cigarette. Unlike Zayn, he doesn’t seem to be particularly enjoying it. As Zayn watches, the boy makes a face and drops the cigarette on the ground after grinding it against the wall to extinguish it. He’s small, this boy, and young. He’s wearing loose blue jeans and a white hoodie, and is wrapped in an orange puffy vest that swallows him up and makes his short frame seem even tinier. Zayn figures that he can’t be much older than sixteen. Zayn’s only nineteen, but he doesn’t need to talk to this kid to know that there’s a world of difference between them. The kid finally notices his staring. He pulls awkwardly on his shockingly bright blonde hair (that has to be from a bottle, right?) flushes, and, after making eye contact with Zayn for a split second, looks away. Zayn takes that as his cue to saunter over. He extinguishes his own cigarette and does so promptly.

“Hey,” he greets him. The blonde does a double take and then looks about himself comically, as if he’s expecting Zayn to be addressing someone else.

“Uh, hey,” he replies uncertainly.

Zayn grins a bit predatorily. What a delicious accent. He wants to know what this kid would sound like moaning into his ear.

“You got a name?” asks Zayn. First things first.

“Niall. Uh…Niall,” the kid replies, not yet sure whether he should give this random stranger his last name.

“You often hang out by yourself in front of clubs, Niall?” In Zayn’s experience, those who did could usually be purchased for the evening (or at least for a couple of hours).

“Maybe I do,” the lad cheekily replies, his confidence growing slightly as Zayn’s grin widens. Zayn decides to take the plunge.

“Doesn’t seem like much fun. Would you rather come back to mine? I’m in town on business for a couple of days and I’ve got a room rented in a rather nice hotel a cab ride away. It would be shame not to bother the neighbors tonight.”

“What? No, I….uhhhh…no thanks? And I uh, I don’t often stand out here by myself, actually. My mate’s trying to buy some beer from the shop around the corner. Yeah. So, um, thanks, I’m flattered, but….yeah.” Niall haltingly rambles out and flushes a dark purple color.

_Interesting _, thinks Zayn. That had certainly freaked the kid out. But he hadn’t tried to hit him. Zayn decides to be blunt.__

“Well, look, Niall, I’ve got a hundred pounds here with me…” Zayn reaches into his back pocket, pulls the bills out of his wallet, and offers them to Niall.

“What?” Niall splutters. “Are you….for me? Are you offering to pay me for sex?”

“Obviously. And quite generously, I might add. I doubt any other hookers around here make that much in one night,” Zayn smoothly replies, completely missing the point.

“Mate, I’m not a bloody prostitute. Now if you could please back the fuck up and leave me alone,” Niall growls.

Zayn holds both hands up in a placating gesture. “Alright, so you’re not interested and you’re not a prostitute. Got it. How about two hundred and fifty pounds? That’s literally all I’ve got on me right now-”

“Did you not fucking hear me the first time, you wanker? You better-wait. Two hundred and fifty pounds? Are you having me on?”

“I’m completely serious, mate. I’m in need of a lay, you’re pretty good looking, there are no other prospects around…” Zayn says, trying to look earnestly at Niall.

Niall frowns and glances around. They’re still alone in front of the noisy bar. Two hundred and fifty pounds. He could do a lot of things with two hundred and fifty pounds. He could put it towards his mum’s rent, or buy some fresh groceries for the house. Money had been tight around the house since their da left. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Was he really thinking about sleeping with this stranger for money?

“I don’t even know your name.”

Zayn grins. Niall’s thinking about accepting his offer after all, it seems. “Zayn Malik.”

“Funny name,” Niall shoots back, stalling.

“Yeah, says ‘Niall,’” snorts Zayn. “So are you in or what? I don’t want to waste my time.” Niall glances around again, still unsure.

“Look, we can just go back to my room and have a drink,” Zayn continues. “No strings. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You can keep the money. You look like you could use it, and I could use the company.” Zayn’s not sure why all of these words come tumbling out of his mouth, or why he feels such sympathy and good will towards the kid.

Niall looks up from studying his shoes, finally meeting Zayn’s eyes. “You would give me two hundred and fifty pounds to hang out in your hotel room with you?”

“What can I say?” chuckles Zayn. “I’m a sad, lonely man. Apparently I’m a stupid, sad, lonely man with too much money to spare, as well.”

Niall shifts his weight back and forth from one foot to the other and worries nervously at his bottom lip. If Zayn gets him back to his hotel room and tries to make a move on him there, Niall figures that he can make a break for it. He grew up quite wildly on the streets of Mullingar, and he knows his way around a street fight. He’s small, but scrappy, and he’s always been able to hold his own. And his family could really use the money.

“Okay, fine,” Niall sighs. “But I’m not going to suck your cock. And you’re paying for the cab.”

“But you have two hundred and fifty pounds to spare,” Zayn teases, and steps into the street to hail a cab.


	2. Drunk In Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Brief instance of racist slurs.  
> Shout out to my girl Beyonce, who I listened to while editing this.

When they get back to Zayn’s shitty room at the local hotel (so, maybe Zayn had lied about it being a really nice room) after the relatively brief cab ride, Niall draws to a sudden halt as Zayn smoothly slides his keycard in the door. He scuffs his stained sneakers on the dingy carpet and looks at everything in the dimly lit hallway except Zayn.

“Well?” Zayn queries, expansively sweeping out an arm in front of him. Niall clears his throat and shifts his weight from foot to foot, just like he had in front of the bar. _A nervous tic _, notes Zayn.__

“I’m not gonna-”

“Yeah, I know. You’re not gonna suck my cock. You’ve made that quite clear. Several times, actually.” Niall had repeated it ad nauseam to Zayn in the cab, perhaps in order to convince himself.

“Right. Okay.”

“You gonna come in? I did pay you two hundred and fifty pounds.”

“Yeah. Right. Okay.”

“You sound like a broken record, mate.” Zayn shakes his head patronizingly at the little Irishman and enters the hotel room. Niall gulps nervously and runs his shaking fingers through his hair, smoothing it down flat across his forehead. What the fuck is he doing here? His mom would kill him. _Greg _would kill him.__

He exhales shakily. Then, finally, he wills himself forward and follows Zayn. He finds the handsome man-bloody handsome, Niall thinks despairingly-at the minibar.

“You want a drink?”

“Trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me?”

Zayn, to his credit, only rolls his eyes. “I’m sure that your tolerance is much too high for me to be able to ply you with the contents of a hotel mini-bar.”

Niall bristles at that, his shoulders drawing up towards the collar of his ugly, orange vest. The bloke talks like a bloody Oxford Dictionary. “You don’t know anything about my tolerance. Matter of face, you don’t know anything about me.”

Zayn rolls his eyes again. Something in Niall’s combination of wide eye innocence and adolescent, simmering anger must bring out the angst in him. “I just, like, assumed that you have a high tolerance since you’re Irish. I dunno.” He tosses a mini bottle of rum at Niall, who catches it and cradles it against his chest. He’s still looking at Zayn with the same wide eyed look, equal parts curiosity and wariness, that he first gave him outside of the bar.

“Since I don’t know anything about you,” Zayn continues, screwing the lid off of a second mini bottle and draining its contents in one smooth pull. “Why don’t you fill me in?”

Niall seems a bit more at ease now that Zayn’s had a drink of his own. Or perhaps he simply wants to keep up with him. For whatever reason, he opens the rum and sinks into an armchair. The _crack _of the bottle’s seal fills the room as Zayn opts to perch on the bed. “Tell me about you first,” Niall eventually grumbles, sipping carefully from the mini bottle.__

Zayn smirks, his eyes crinkling in genuine amusement. The kid is fun. And he’s always loved a challenge.

“Well, you already know that my name’s Zayn Malik. I live in London now, but I’m originally from Bradford.”

"What do you do for a living? And why are you in Mullingar? We don’t get a lot of….strangers…around here.”

“You mean ‘pakis,’ right? Or maybe, ‘towel heads?’ ‘Terrorists?’ ‘Sand monkeys?’”

The other boy jumps and flushes, startled by the slurs. Zayn watches the color spreading from Niall’s face and down to his chest with interest, his fingers involuntarily curling in the comforter. “No….no! Tha’s not what I meant. I would never say shit like tha’.” Zayn quirks an eyebrow skeptically, and Niall’s blush deepens. “Tha’s not what I was gonna say, alrigh’?” _The accent deepens when he’s embarrassed _, Zayn notes absently.__

Niall continues, raising his free hand to self-consciously scratch at the back of his neck. “I’m not a bloody, racist, y’know?”

“I never said you were,” Zayn coolly replies.

“Yeah, but you said-” Niall cuts himself off and narrows his eyes. “It’s just that….you look quite different from everyone else here. And not just because…” He vaguely waves his hand in Zayn’s direction and the dark haired man tenses. “Y’know. It’s also….the skinny jeans….and everything.”

Zayn drops his eyes to his own lap, and then looks back up at Niall. His all-black, skin tight outfit couldn’t be any further from Niall’s sagging blue jeans and ridiculously oversized hoodie and vest combination.

“Do all…do all gay men dress like that in London? Is that like…the style?” Niall murmurs, looking carefully away from Zayn’s piercing golden eyes.  
Zayn narrows his eyes, and strokes a hand across his chin in consideration. Interesting question. Why would the kid want to know that? “Not really. There’s like…a range of styles. And I’m not gay.”

“But you…..”

“I tried to solicit you for sex?”

“…..yeah.”

“I like both.”

“What?”

“Both. Men and women.”

“Oh.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Zayn takes mercy on Niall. “Want another drink?”

“Sure.” Zayn tosses it to him, snagging another one from the mini bar for himself. They drink in silence, and then Niall hesitantly pipes up, picking at a spot on his jeans as he speaks. “You never answered my question.”

“Oh?” Zayn asks, his tone teasing and his voice warm.

“About what you do for a living. And why you’re in Mullingar.”

“I told you earlier when I tried to pick you up-” Niall grimaces and Zayn smothers a smug smile with his fist. “I’m here on business.”

“And what’s that business?”

“None of yours,” Zayn retorts.

“Clever,” mutters Niall. “I like that.” And there’s the blush again.

Zayn smiles, pleased with Niall’s retort. He has a feeling that Niall would be a lot to handle when comfortably situated on his own turf. “But really. You’re better off not knowing, kid.”

“’M not a kid.”

“Yeah, you are. How old are you, anyway?”

"Old enough for another drink.” Zayn laughs at that and snags their third round of liquor from the mini bar, again tossing a little bottle of rum to Niall. Niall catches it, barely pausing this time as he twists off the cap and empties the contents into his mouth. He roughly drags the back of his hand against his glistening lips, and Zayn finds himself suddenly staring at the ceiling. He’d given the kid his word that he wouldn’t jump him, but _Allah _the boy was testing him with his earnest stare and big hands and-__

“Seventeen.”

“What?” Zayn jerks, startled out of his reverie.

“I’m seventeen,” Niall grins toothily, pleased at catching him off guard. “So you can’t call me kid. Cuz you can’t be much older than me…”

“I turn twenty in a couple of weeks,” Zayn replies.

“See?” Niall smirks at him triumphantly, and Zayn’s fist tightens in the comforter. “You can’t call me a kid.”

“Why did you ask me what gay men wear in London?” The question, which had been lurking in the back of Zayn’s mind for the past couple of minutes, suddenly tears its way past his lips with the help of that third little bottle of liquor. He snaps his mouth shut, the muscle in his jaw working furiously. Niall freezes at the sudden change in subject, and a heavy silence falls over the small hotel room.

“Um….” Niall draws out the syllable, his pink lips closing tightly around it. “I’m gay, so I just wanted to know-”

“You’re _gay _?” Zayn blurts out before Niall can finish his sentence.__

Niall’s smirk resurfaces; he seems pleased that he’s been able to ruffle Zayn’s feathers, to disturb his calm, collected exterior. “Yeah.”

“You got a boyfriend? Is that the real reason why you won’t suck my cock?”

Niall blushes, and hell, Zayn is beginning to love that, but he refuses to rise to the bait. “No, I won’t suck your cock because I’m not a bloody prostitute. Like I’ve been telling you all night. I don’t have a boyfriend.” He pauses, his fingers resuming their nervous picking at his jeans. “I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’ve never…” he hesitates, takes a deep breath, and then takes the plunge. “…been with a guy, actually. You’re the first person I’ve come out to. And, _Jesus _, you’re a complete stranger…and I…”__

Allah give me strength, Zayn thinks desperately. It’s like the beginning scene of a porno, the blonde, blushing, bashful boy sitting across from him in a hotel room-

“How do you know, then? How do you know for sure that you’re gay?” Zayn hears the question, and distantly realizes that he’s asked it.

“Well, I-” Niall pauses, twisting his fingers together. “I’ve been with _girls _, y’know. But I didn’t like it. And I’ve always fancied-” He pauses, and glares at Zayn. “You can’t make fun of me for this. You and your bloody hipster skinny jeans…”__

Zayn snorts, but then schools his face into a serious expression and holds up his hands. “I won’t.”

Niall eyes him skeptically, unconvinced, but continues anyway. “I’ve always fancied Justin Bieber. Like, more than a straight bloke ought to.”

Zayn chokes, a hand flying up to his chest. And then-he can’t help it, he just can’t-he dissolves into laughter. He tips back onto the bed, howling. “Justin Bieber? Oh…… _no _!”  
__

Niall laughs with him, a glorious cackle that has his entire body heaving. “Shut the fuck up. He’s fit, yeah?” With some effort, he lifts himself out of the armchair and lunges across the bed towards Zayn. Niall punches him in the shoulder, and Zayn rolls on his side to face him. “I have a thing for pretentious douchebags, alright?”

“Is that why you didn’t run the other way when I talked to you?”

Niall ignores him in favor of plopping down next to him. When he doesn’t respond, Zayn pipes up again.

“But….really? You know that you’re gay because you’ve got a boner for Justin Bieber-” Niall punches him in the shoulder again, and maybe it kind of hurts this time (not that Zayn would ever admit it), but Zayn continues, undeterred. “But you’ve never been with a guy?”

Niall frowns and nods his head in confirmation, looking at Zayn with his big, blue eyes.

Zayn coughs, suddenly made uncomfortable by Niall’s close proximity. “Not even, like, a homoerotic circle jerk with your football buddies or summat?”

Niall’s forehead crinkles at Zayn’s specificity for a brief moment, but then nods again. “Not even…that. I’ve had the _worst _crush on one of my closest mates for the longest time, but I would never make a move because he’s _definitely _straight.”____

Zayn sighs and reaches out a sympathetic hand to absently ruffle Niall’s blonde locks. “Been there, mate. Being in the closest fucking sucks.”

Niall lifts his eyebrows and looks Zayn up and down. “You don’t look like you were ever in the closet.”

Zayn barks out a harsh laugh. “Well, I am a Muslim.”

“Yeah.” Niall huffs out a breath. “I’m guessing that they’re just as bad as the Irish Catholics are?”

Zayn bristles at Niall's assumption. He doesn’t really feel like revisiting such a dark time in his past with this shy, funny blonde ray of sunshine. “I mean, I don’t really know much about Catholicism and homosexuality. But, no, not all of the Muslims I know were terrible about me coming out. A few were quite supportive, actually. I found this Imam who really helped-” He cuts himself short. Why the fuck is he spilling his guts to this kid that he literally picked up off of the street for a couple of hundred pounds? He doesn’t need to hear this fucking sob story. He doesn’t need to know anything about the absolute tragicomedy that has been Zayn’s life thus far. No matter how cute he is, or how innocent his blue eyes appear to be. Zayn shakes his head in a desperate attempt to clear it and shoots to his feet, pulling away from the Irish boy perched on the foot of the bed.

“You ought to be going home soon.”

The palms of Niall’s hands skitter across his knees, and he bobs his head up and down in agreement. “Yeah, I ‘spose so. Thanks for the money, and…uhhh….the rum.”

“I can call a cab for you. Unless….” Zayn’s eyes meet Niall’s, and his breath suddenly catches in his throat. “You want to try being with a guy. Since you haven’t….since you’ve never….” Zayn’s words fail him, and he mentally curses himself. He’s _Zayn Malik _, one of Paul’s handpicked men. He’s a certified gangster who’s faced down the barrel of a gun several times and lived to tell the tale, for crying out loud. But this one seventeen year old boy, with his orange fucking vest and his innocent eyes-__

“Okay.”

“Huh?” Zayn is yanked away from the inner voice berating his inexplicable vulnerability. Turns out the kid is full of surprises.

“Sure. We could try. But I…..I meant what I said earlier. I’m not just gonna suck your cock-”

The words fly out of Zayn’s mouth before he can reconsider them, before he can even consider their repercussions. “I’ll do it. I’ll suck your dick. You don't have to do anything.”

Niall’s eyes widen and he breathes out heavily through his nose. “Yeah, alright. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…I can’t believe I’m….with some bloke I don’t even know….in a bloody hotel room-”

Zayn cuts across his anxious rant. “You want another drink?”

“No, I….three is enough. I don’ wan’ ta be drunk for this.”

Zayn shrugs and shrugs out of his leather jacket, carelessly dropping it on the floor. Niall gulps at his sudden movement, eyes raking heatedly down Zayn’s body. He takes in the sleeve of tattoos twining around Zayn’s right forearm, and sucks his lower lip into his mouth, worrying at it with his teeth. “You’re really-uh-you’re quite fit.”

Zayn laughs, a genuine one that has Niall blushing red to the roots of his hair. “You don’t have to sweet talk me, sugar. I already said that I’d go down on you.”

“Uh…I wasn’t….I mean…cool.”

Zayn rolls his eyes for what seems like the umpteenth time that night. He doesn’t want to hurt the boy’s ego, but he really can’t help it. Niall is such a cliché, and for some reason he loves it. Zayn feels irresistibly drawn to him, and doesn’t he really want to examine that. Now is neither the time nor the place. Instead, he steps closer to Niall and reaches out one hand. He buries his hand in Niall’s soft hair, and he can hear Niall’s breath hitch. Grinning wickedly to himself, Zayn drags his hand from the blond mop, down Niall’s face, down his neck, and, finally, down his chest. He can feel Niall’s heartbeat rapidly increase under his palm until it’s pounding away as if the Irishman has just run a marathon. Something behind Zayn’s collarbone twinges at that.

“Niall…..calm down, alright? I’m gonna take care of you. I’m gonna make you feel good.” Zayn tries to ignore the voice in his head that is very much screaming at him that he does, in fact, _need to take care of this boy _. He lifts his hand from Niall’s chest to pull down the zipper of that ugly orange vest, finally raising his other one to push it off of his shoulders. Next comes the hoodie, and then the t shirt, both articles of clothing pulled brusquely over Niall’s head. Zayn only has a minute to appreciate the defined lines of Niall’s chest and abs before he looks back up and notices that the boy’s eyes are blown wide in terror.__

“Niall….I told you that it’s gonna be alright.” And then, surprising even himself, Zayn leans forward to plant a chaste kiss on Niall’s lips. When he examines his actions later, Zayn will tell himself that he did it to reassure Niall. That that was the only reason he kissed him. But now, in the heat of the moment, that something that had squeezed painfully behind his chest loosens at the feeling of Niall relaxing underneath his kiss. But before Niall can properly kiss him back, Zayn pulls away and pushes at his shoulders.

“Go on, lay back.” And then Niall is silently complying with no trace of the nervous babble that had spewed out his mouth shortly before. Zayn falls to his knees at the foot of the bed, gentle fingers stretching out to undo Niall’s belt and flick open his jeans. And then Niall is drawing a sharp breath in-

“Oh, fuck. _Fuck _, Zayn. What are you- _oh _. Oh my _god _. Fuck. Yeah, just like- _ohhhhh _. _Fuck _.”__________


	3. Caught Up In the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! I took a brief hiatus from writing after finishing "These Little Things That Bind Us," but now I'm back at work with this Ziall prequel. I've been listening to a ton of Lana Del Rey while writing this fic, and the title of this chapter comes from her song "Blue Jeans." Hope you enjoy! As always, I love hearing from you.

The next morning when Zayn wakes up, he’s alone in the lumpy hotel bed. He groans, stretches, and rolls to one side. As he does so, he catches sight of a few slips of paper scattered across the bedside table. The two hundred and fifty pounds he had handed over the Niall in the cab, along with a receipt with a mobile number scrawled across its back. Zayn smirks to himself and rolls back onto his stomach, falling into a dreamless sleep.

When he wakes again, it’s nearly midday. He’s not yet late for his meeting, but he almost is. He slips out of bed and into his clothes with a rare display of speed, pausing only to lace up his Doc Martens before hustling out of the door. There’s a plate of fish and chips and a Guinness waiting for him at the pub, and he feigns a smile as he claps the crime boss on the back in thanks. _Fucking disgusting food_. Oh well, it wasn’t like he hadn’t gotten used to it back in London.

Today, the man seems less willing to hear Zayn out as he spews forth an equal mixture of statistics, prices, and reassurances from Paul.

“The product that Paul can get to you is of a higher quality than anything Dublin can provide, and you know it,” he says after his earnest presentation is met with silence.

“You said that yesterday, laddie. _I get it_. I’m convinced of the quality…Higgins is known across the United Kingdom for his heroin. I’m not convinced of his ability to provide me with protection, seeing as he’s separated from Mullingar by the bloody sea.”

Zayn frowns and folds his hands under his chin. “I’ve already told you that Paul is willing to send enforcers down from London-”

“I’ve got all of the armed thugs that I need, thanks. And I’d prefer to continue to hire Irish men…..support the local economy and all that,” the man says with a menacing wink.

“Of course,” Zayn says, backpedaling. “But look, mate, I don’t know how else I’m supposed to reassure you that going into business with Paul is the right choice. The smart choice. I’ve shown you the facts.” There’s a moment of silence as the two men stare at each other, and then Zayn plays his final card. “But…if you want to talk to him yourself….I could try to arrange a phone call.”

The crime boss narrows his eyes. “You told me yesterday that that wouldn’t be possible.”

“When Paul sent me over here, he sent me with some figures and the order to persuade you to join up with us. Since my presentation of the figures isn’t enough to persuade you, I’ll have to find another way. And if a conversation is what it takes, I’ll make that happen.”

The man considers this, and then nods. “Good man.”

Zayn ducks his head in acknowledgement. “Of course,” he says. “I’ll contact Paul tonight and get back to you tomorrow.”

The man stands up, and Zayn follows his lead. “Very well, Malik.” He extends a hand to Zayn, who gives it a firm shake. “Let Higgins know that I look forward to speaking with him as soon as possible.”

“I will.” And with that, Zayn is ushered from the back room and back out into the pub. It’s still early evening, and the pub hasn’t yet converted into a dance club like it had last night. Instead, local men just off of work cluster in small groups at the bar, delaying going home to their wives and children with pints and chatter about football. Zayn strolls past them, ignoring the few speculative glances sent towards him as he exits the pub.

He’s had enough fried pub food in the past two days to last him a lifetime, and he thankfully finds a small Indian place a few doors down from the pub. He pauses at the door, appreciatively inhaling the scent of spices similar to those used by his mother. Finding an empty table, he orders some samosas and a plate of Tandoori chicken. The food arrives quickly and he immediately begins to wolf it down. The samosas taste just like the ones served by the food stand just around the corner from his flat, and for a moment he’s nostalgic for London’s dirty streets and his two idiot best friends, Louis and Harry, instead of for his mum. Zayn shakes his head to clear it, abruptly reaching for the chicken instead of finishing the order of samosas. _Idiot_ , he thinks. _You’ve only been gone for two days_. Louis would have a field day if he knew Zayn was feeling homesick for him.

Zayn finishes his meal and orders a pot of tea, stretching out his legs as he watches Mullingar’s streets empty with the setting sun. He reaches a hand into his back pocket, fishing out the crumpled receipt that he’d shoved in there before leaving the hotel room. He places it on the table and carefully uses the heavy base of his teacup to smooth out the folds. Satisfied with his efforts, he drums his fingers on the tabletop and glares at the number scrawled across the piece of paper, his mouth twisted into a scowl. Again, the face of his best friend swims unbidden to the forefront of his mind. _Louis would absolutely mock me if he knew I was this hung up on the Irish kid_.

That thought settles it. Zayn stands up from the table, tossing a few bills onto the table to cover his meal along with a generous tip. He quickly leaves the restaurant before he can change his mind. The receipt lays abandoned, but not quite forgotten, next to the dirty dishes.

Outside, Zayn lights up a cigarette, leaning up against a wall as he yanks out his mobile.

“Yeah?”

“Hey Paul, it’s Zayn.”

“Malik? Why are you calling me?”

“Look, I know you said not to, but this bloke’s not gonna cave unless he gets to talk to you-”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I’m sorry to call you, but we’ve talked for hours. This is what he needs. If you talk to him, he’ll commit.”

“Are you willing to bet your job on that?”

Zayn takes a heavy breath, but his voice is strong when he answers. “Yes. I’d bet anything.”

There’s a pause, and then-“Fine. Give him this number and arrange for a chat tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you. You won’t regret it, Paul.”

“You better hope that I don’t.” There’s a click as the line goes dead, and Zayn lets out a breath that he hadn’t even realized he was holding. The night is inky black around him, and there’s nothing else to do but head back to the pub. He needs a drink to steady his nerves. 

\----------------------------------------------------------

 

Zayn’s only two Guinnesses in when he catches sight of a flash of bright blonde hair by the door. He signals to the bartender for two more beers, his lips involuntarily twisting into a smile that he’s unable to tamp down. There’s a tap on his shoulder as the bartender slides the pint glasses to him. Zayn turns around in mock surprise. “Well, look who it is.”

The lad looks a bit nicer tonight, clad in a plaid shirt with his unruly shock of hair somewhat tamed. “You didn’t call me,” Niall says, voice thick with his Irish brogue.

Zayn delicately lifts one eyebrow. “I was busy today,” he replies.

“I left my number, but you didn’t call me,” Niall continues, undaunted. “I left the money, too.”

“I was busy,” Zayn repeats. “And, besides,” he shrugs. “I wasn’t sure that you actually wanted me to call you. You didn’t particularly seem to like me last night.”

Niall eyes him carefully. “I think I like you. I haven’t quite decided yet.”

Zayn grins easily, and Niall perks up in response. Zayn offers him one of the glasses. “Would a Guinness help you make up your mind?”

“Might do,” Niall says as accepts the proffered beer and downs half of it in one go.

Zayn looks on, impressed in spite of himself. A thought occurs to him. “How did you get in here, anyhow? You’re underage.”

Niall winks at him, waggling his eyebrows in a way that Zayn _absolutely should not_ find attractive. He's so fucked. “We’re in Mullingar, mate. No one gives a shit.”  


Zayn hums in acknowledgement and then turns to his drink, sipping gingerly at it. Niall finishes his drink in a single pull and then settles on a barstool, seemingly content to watch Zayn drink his.

“Surprised you’re drinking Guinness, honestly,” Niall pipes up after a few moments of silence. “Pegged you as more of a mixed drink guy. I feel like I should fetch you an umbrella for your pint glass or summat.”

Zayn scowls at him, knowing full well that it only serves to make him look more attractive. Or so he’s been told. “You calling me a fairy?”

“What if I am?” Niall teases back, his eyes sparkling with laughter.

Zayn tries not to let the mirth show in his own eyes, but he knows that he fails. _This fucking kid_. “Maybe I am a fairy, but at least I’m the fairy that sucked your cock last night.”

At that, Niall’s bright blue eyes darken. “Want to go outside for a smoke?” he suddenly blurts.

Zayn barks out a laugh. “No offense, Niall, but you didn’t look like much of a smoker when I ran into you last night.”

Niall rolls his eyes and leans in close to Zayn, one hand snaking out to wrap around his wrist. “ _No_ , I _mean_ ,” he says in a low, husky voice. “Do you want to _go outside for a smoke_?”

“Oh. _Oh_.” Zayn’s eyes widen, and it’s Niall’s turn to smirk at him. Zayn blushes at the embarrassment that he feels; this kid shouldn’t be able to fluster him like this. “Yeah, okay.” He clears his throat and then finishes what little is left of his Guinness with a gulp, eyes screwed shut against the bitter taste. He hops down from the barstool as Niall does the same, and then Niall’s hand finds his wrist again and the blonde tugs him across the smoke filled room to a side exit.

Niall pushes open the door, Zayn following close behind him and then pausing to carefully pull the door shut. Niall looks down alley both ways; they’re alone save for a dumpster. Zayn is just pulling out his pack of cigarettes as Niall turns back to him. Niall’s face immediately creases into a frown. He reaches out quickly, slapping the pack out of Zayn’s hand and onto the damp cobblestones.

“What the fu-” Zayn starts, enraged, but Niall has him pinned against the wall before he can finish his outburst, large hands curled into the collar of his leather jacket. Zayn pushes at him, but the blonde doesn’t move. Zayn may have a couple of inches on him, but Niall certainly isn’t as scrawny as he seems.

“Niall, what-”

“You gonna call me tomorrow?”

Zayn is flustered, but he manages to smirk. He doesn’t want Niall to know how much his proximity and aggression are affecting him. Well, affecting his cock. “You gonna give me a reason to?”

“Might do,” Niall says, echoing his words from earlier. And with that, he drops to his knees, hands pulling at Zayn’s belt.


	4. This Is How It Feels To Take a Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some Ziall fluff.  
> I'm keeping up with the trend of naming chapters after the songs that I listen to while writing them. So here ya go.

“Well done, Malik. I’m very pleased with your work.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“It’s unfortunate that I had to step in to close the deal, but I suppose that you haven’t got your training wheels off just yet.” 

“No, sir.” 

“Still. I’m impressed. Expect more responsibility when you return to London, along with a pay raise.” 

“Thank you, Paul.” Zayn pulls his mobile away to bite down on his fist, preventing a triumphant scream from making its way out of his mouth. “And thanks for letting me have the chance to prove myself.” 

“I knew you had it in you, kid. There might be a place for you higher up in the organization if you continue to do so well.” 

“Oh! Great! Thank-”

“Make sure you go back to the pub tonight and let McLaren buy you a drink to seal the deal.” 

“Will do, sir.” 

“Report to headquarters when you get back to London.” And with that, Paul’s off the line. 

Zayn jumps up from where he’s perched on the edge of the hotel bed, punching the air in victory. He’s finally proved to Paul that he’s capable of more than just selling drugs; he’s able to negotiate well with other gangs and to move Paul’s heroin into new territories. And Paul’s promised him more responsibility and a chance to move up in the organization! _Fucking hell_. _Not gonna be a low level dealer for much longer_ , Zayn thinks. 

He dashes out a quick text to Louis and Harry. _Fuckin sealed the deal lads_. 

Harry texts back almost immediately, a long string of incomprehensible emojjis. _Is that a space ship_? Zayn squints at his mobile and rolls his eyes. 

Louis’ reply comes a few moments later. _Fuck yeah_! _Knew u had it in u_. _Drinks on me when u get back_. _Westside_! 

Zayn begins to tap out a reply, but then Louis sends him another text almost immediately. _When do u get back_? 

_Tomorrow_ , Zayn replies. 

_See u then_. 

Zayn grins widely as he sits back down on the bed, considering Paul’s instructions. He has to go back to that fucking pub again and let the local crime boss buy him a beer. But then he has one last night in Ireland…..

After a brief moment of consideration, Zayn unlocks his mobile and thumbs through his contacts, stopping at the _Niall Horan ;)_ that the blonde had programmed into his phone after they had stumbled, breathless and laughing, back into the pub from the alleyway last night. _Why the fuck not_?

He calls him before he can chicken out. The phone rings six times before the call goes to voicemail. “Hello, you’ve reached the Horans.” A woman’s voice. A family phone line. “If you’d like for us to call you back, please-” Zayn hangs up. He sits, frozen, and then lurches off the bed towards the mini bar. He grabs a mini bottle of tequila (he & Niall had finished the Bacardi the other night) and rips off the cap, tossing the shot down with a flick of his head. 

Zayn Malik doesn’t call people after he’s gotten what he wants from them. Zayn Malik _certainly_ does not call people more than once. Zayn Malik _definitely_ doesn’t call family phone lines more than once. 

_Doesn’t the kid have a bloody mobile_? Zayn thinks despairingly. He rolls the empty mini bottle around in his fingers and then abruptly reaches for his mobile again. 

“Hello, you’ve reached the-”

“ _Fuck._ ” Zayn twists around to watch the clock next the bed. Ten agonizing minutes pass and then Zayn dials the number again. 

“Hello, you’ve reached the Horans. If you’d like for us to call you back, please leave your name and number. Thanks!” 

“Uh……..hey….Niall. This is….uhhh…Zayn. Yeah. It was…..nice…seeing you the other night. Give me a call back if you….if you want to hang out tonight….bruvver.” Zayn winces at his use of slang. _Don’t try to sound too casual, idiot_ , he thinks. “Yeah. Okay. Bye.” He hangs up before he can say anything else. He reaches for his leather jacket and fishes around for his wallet before realizing that it’s still in his back pocket. And then he sets off to the pub for one last drink with McLaren, alternately pleased that he mustered up the courage to call Niall and pissed that even the little Irishman’s family voicemail is enough to fluster him. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Niall’s still not at the pub by the time Zayn’s downed four pints, drinking like a fish to drown his nerves. It’s not working. At least the crime boss had offered Zayn drinks on the house for the whole night. Zayn looks around to find McLaren already watching him, and raises his pint glass in a salute. The man nods back. 

Zayn glances down at his mobile, which had remained cursedly silent throughout the night except for when Harry had sent him another stupid string of emojis. The time glows up at Zayn through the darkness of the pub. _1:15 AM_.

 _Fuck it_. _He’s not coming_.

Zayn slides off the barstool with a grunt, his booted feet hitting the ground heavily. _Best get back to the hotel and get a good night’s sleep before my flight_. 

He waits outside the pub for a good fifteen minutes to hail a cab, but none appear. Cursing Irish cabdrivers and Irish pubs and Irish hotels and Irish boys with beautiful blue eyes and large hands, Zayn stumbles home through the darkness. He realizes that he’s lost when he finds himself in the middle of a park lit up by a single streetlamp. _I’m not fucking drunk enough to be lost in a bloody park in the middle of bloody Ireland_. Zayn stops walking and sways lightly on the spot, peering around him. Spotting a dark figure slumped over on a park bench, he approaches it carefully. Hopefully it’s just the local friendly drunk, who might be able to direct him back to the hotel. Zayn reaches the bench and gingerly reaches over to prod the figure, but stops before his hand can make contact with stranger’s shoulder. 

“ _Niall_?” 

“Huh?” The figure grunts, before swaying upright and peering at him suspiciously. “Who’re you?” 

“Niall?” Zayn repeats, too shocked to say anything else. 

“Yeah, who’s tha- _Zayn_?”

“Yeah. Yes. It’s me.” 

“What’re you doing here?” 

“Could ask you the same thing,” Zayn says, sinking onto the bench next to Niall. 

Niall opens his mouth to reply but then leans forward and-

“Ugh! What the _fuck_!” Zayn jerks away from Niall as he vomits, but not in time to save his boots. 

“Awwww fuck. Did I get your shoes?” 

“ _Yes_.”

“Fuck, sorry mate. I’ll pay for em or whatever.” 

Zayn looks up from his feet and shuffles closer to Niall, looking at him suspiciously. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?” 

“Ding ding ding! We have a winner! Urgh-” Niall cackles before leaning over and retching into the bushes at the side of the bench. 

This time, Zayn leans over to rub soothing circles into his back. He waits until Niall seems to regain his composure and then asks him, “Niall, why are you alone and drunk in the middle of a public park at two in the morning?” 

“Me…..me ma kicked me out.” 

“What? Why did your mum kick you out?” 

“Greg saw us last night.” 

“Greg?” 

“Brother.” 

“Oh.” Zayn pauses, and then continues. “Greg saw us….?”

Niall turns his head to glare at Zayn, suddenly surprisingly lucid. “Greg saw us leave the pub together and then come back in half an hour later giggling and probably covered in cum or whatnot.” 

“We were not covered in-okay.” Zayn cuts himself off. “Your brother caught you with a bloke and your mum kicked you out of the house cos she finally figured out that you’re gay…..and then you went out and got drunk?” Niall nods miserably, so Zayn continues. “But why are you alone in the park?” 

“Got nowhere else to go.” 

“There’s not a friend’s house or-”

“ _No_ ,” Niall says bitingly. “ _No_ , I told you the other day that none of me friends know that I’m gay. I can’t tell them. I can’t tell Sean-” He cuts himself off to again lean over, back heaving as he gets sick. 

And in that moment, watching the pale, scared kid vomit into the bushes, Zayn sees himself at age seventeen. And he knows what he has to do. 

“Alright, there you go. Get it out.” Zayn’s hand resumes its task of rubbing reassuring circles into Niall’s back. Twenty minutes later, when it seems like the blonde’s stomach is empty, Zayn rises back to his feet and reaches a hand down. 

“What?” asks Niall, looking blankly up at him. 

“Come on. You’re comin’ back to my hotel room.” 

“No, I’m not.” 

“Yes, you are.” 

“I’m not-”

“Niall!” snaps Zayn, his patience suddenly worn thin. “I’m not letting you sleep in a bloody park. You’ll thank me in the morning.” 

Niall grumbles to himself under his breath, but allows Zayn to pull him to his feet. Zayn wraps a steadying arm around Niall’s waist, and the two make it about a meter down the path before Zayn remembers that he’s lost and pulls him to a halt. 

“Uhhh…Niall? Do you know how to get back to the hotel?” 

\------------------------------------------------

“Good morning.” 

Zayn rolls over to find himself staring into bright blue eyes. “Morning,” he grunts back. 

“Thanks, ah….thanks for taking care of me last night. I was a right mess. Did we….did anything happen?” mumbles Niall, looking down at the bed sheets. 

“Oh sure, lots of stuff happened.” Niall pales a bit, but Zayn smiles reassuringly at him. “You were sick all over my boots-” Niall reddens at that. “And then you sang all the way back to the hotel. I couldn’t understand any of the words….I think it was in Irish?” 

Niall barks out a laugh, garnering an answering smile from Zayn. “Yeah, Irish. And uh….sorry for puking on your boots. I can buy you new ones-”

Zayn waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. I washed them off in the shower last night.” There’s a moment of silence, and Zayn is struck by how little he knows about this boy. He knows that Niall was forced out of the closet by his brother and then subsequently out of the house by his mother, but other than that he knows nothing of significance about him. _It shouldn’t be this easy to talk to him _, Zayn thinks. Zayn is known amongst Paul’s crew back in London for his serious, quiet, and dependable nature. It seems that Niall brings out something else in him. Niall moves, bringing Zayn’s attention back to him.__

“I um…I can thank you for last night….if you want,” Niall says, reaching a hand under the covers to hesitantly touch Zayn’s boxer clad thigh. 

Zayn nearly falls off the bed in his haste to scoot away from Niall. “No. You don’t have to thank me. I’ve been there. I wanted to help you.” 

“What if I _want_ to thank you?” counters Niall. 

Zayn gives him a hard look. “Do you? Really?” When Niall says nothing, Zayn sighs. “Look, I helped you because someone did that for me once, okay?” _Louis_. “You don’t pay it back, you pay it forward.” When Niall still remains silent, Zayn smiles softly at him. “You should take a shower.” 

Niall’s face finally creases into a smile. “Why? Do I smell?” 

“Yes, like piss and vomit. Get out of my bed and take a shower before I change my mind and decide that I want to shower first.” 

Niall ignores his threat and launches himself across the bed on top of Zayn. “Piss and vomit, you said?” he shouts down into Zayn’s face. His fingers find Zayn’s ribs and begin to dig in mercilessly, tickling Zayn as he squirms in protest. “Take it back!” 

“No!” Zayn manages to gasp through his shocked laughter. 

“Take it back! Everyone knows us Irish smell like roses, mate!” 

Zayn manages to get a leg up underneath Niall and lashes out, kicking Niall square in the stomach. The blonde wheezes and rolls of the bed, landing with a _thump_ on the floor. “You’re bloody insane!” Zayn sticks a head over the side of the bed and pants down at him. 

Niall grins broadly back at him, and then picks himself up and saunters into the bathroom without another word. Zayn watches him close the door behind him and then waits until he hears the sound of running water before he reaches for his mobile. He cradles it in one hand, looking down at it with a considering frown. He inhales deeply. _Fuck it_. 

“Hello, I’ve got a flight from Dublin to London this afternoon. Can I switch it to tomorrow night?” 

By the time Zayn gets off the line with the travel agency, Niall bounces out of the bathroom freshly showered and wrapped in a towel. 

_He really is very beautiful_ , thinks Zayn. 

“Thanks!” grins Niall, bouncing up on his toes. “But you’re prettier than me.” 

“Did I say that out loud?” blurts Zayn. 

“Yep.” 

“Uh. Well. I’m gonna take a shower. You can borrow some of my clothes.” Zayn jerks a thumb at his suitcase. “We should probably burn yours from last night, considering all of the piss and vomit.” Satisfied with having the last word, Zayn walks into the bathroom and shuts the door securely. 

When he gets out, he pulls on some clothes and slips his mobile into his back pocket, ignoring several texts from Louis asking about his arrival time. He won’t bother telling his best friend that he’s delayed his flight back because he doesn’t know _how_ to explain why he’s delayed his flight. He doesn’t know how to explain Niall. 

“If you still want to thank me, how about you take me to your favorite diner? I’m starving,” Zayn says, turning to face Niall. 

Niall is ecstatic at the prospect of food, and swiftly hustles Zayn out of the hotel to the nearest Nando’s, which is by no means the cute local diner that Zayn had been hankering for. It’s Niall’s favorite, however, so Zayn smiles and orders the same thing as him and watches the blonde tear ravenously into the food while attempting to tell stories about his football team at the same time. Zayn pays for both of them, much to Niall’s dismay, and then walks with Niall back to the public park where he had found him the night before. Niall insists that they stop for ice cream on the way. 

Bearing their ice cream cones, they find a shaded area far away from the noisy playground swamped with children. They settle into the grass and Niall inhales his cone at an alarming pace. Zayn is beginning to see a pattern. He hands over the remainder of his cone to Niall with a roll of his eyes as soon as the blonde finishes his own. Niall smiles and takes it, sliding closer to Zayn so that their arms are pressed close together as he finishes the cone. 

“Gorgeous day,” Zayn finally says as they absently watch the children playing from afar. “First sunny one since I’ve been here.” 

Niall smiles. “Yeah, Mullingar’s beautiful. I don’t….” he trails off and frowns down at his hands, sticky with the remains of the ice cream cones. “I don’t want to leave it. This is my home.” 

Zayn reaches out a careful hand to cup the back of Niall’s neck, turning to look him in the eyes. “You don’t have to.” 

“I just…..I don’t know what to do. There’s nothing for me here if me ma won’t let me back.” 

“She might. Give her time to calm down. Maybe go by the house tomorrow.” 

“I don’t think that time is gonna change her mind. I’ve betrayed her, betrayed my whole family, betrayed our faith-”

“Shhh…” Zayn cuts off Niall, tightening his grip on the back of his neck. “Hey, now. It’s gonna be okay.” 

“Oh yeah? How do you know?” 

“Because I know.” 

“You said that….someone helped you out like you helped me. Did you get kicked out too? When you came out to your family?” 

Zayn hesitates. “Not exactly. But things were….uncomfortable. I wanted to get out of the house and start my own life.” 

“And you did?” 

_If you call selling drugs with my idiot best friend and then getting pressured to join a gang starting a life_ , Zayn thinks. “Yes,” he says instead. 

Niall hums thoughtfully, gazing back over at the playground. Zayn follows his line of sight and sees two little boys, clearly brothers by their shared resemblance, building a sandcastle. He withdraws his hand from the back of Niall’s neck to instead hold his hand. They sit like that for a while, enjoying the sunshine and the sounds of the children playing. 

Niall drops Zayn’s hand to tug on the sleeve of Zayn’s t shirt, and Zayn turns to face him. Niall keeps his fingers hooked in Zayn’s sleeve and slowly, slowly leans in and presses his lips to Zayn’s. It’s brief, and sweet. Niall leans back and drops his hands down to his lap. 

“Thanks,” he says. Zayn opens his mouth to respond, but Niall cuts him off before he can speak. “I know, I know. I don’t have to thank you. I kissed you because I wanted to.” Niall looks down at the pair of black skinny jeans he’d borrowed from Zayn, fingers picking nervously at the seam. “But….thank you for being so nice to me.” 

“You’re welcome,” Zayn replies softly. He pauses and then haltingly continues. “I’m spending time with you because I _want_ to. But I also…..I also feel guilty. I feel like it’s my fault. Your brother-”

At that, Niall’s head snaps up. “No, absolutely not. Don’t feel guilty. It’s not your fault that me ma kicked me out. My family was gonna find out eventually.” 

“Okay,” Zayn says, exhaling slowly. 

“Okay,” Niall echoes, that radiant smile back on his face. “Do you really want to spend time with me?” he asks. “You’re so cool and I’m-”

“Niall,” Zayn interrupts. “I do. I like you. A lot.” Niall blinks in surprise. “Allah knows why, but I do.” 

Niall breaks into uproarious laughter, lurching towards him and securing him in a headlock. 

“Niall, what are you-eurgh, _no_! Don’t mess up my hair! Niall-”

Still laughing, the blonde releases him and settles back down. “Thought you liked it when I shoved you around the other night,” he teases. 

Zayn rolls his eyes, but can’t contain the shy, fond smile spreading across his face. Niall looks at him carefully, his face becoming serious as his eyes drop down to his lips. He leans forward again, just as slowly as he had the first time, and presses another gentle kiss to Zayn’s lips. He pulls away slightly, his face still close to Zayn’s as he reaches out a hand to lightly trace along Zayn’s scruffy jaw. “I like you, too,” he whispers. 

Zayn smiles in response, leaning forward to kiss him again. This time Zayn can hear Niall’s breath hitch, and when they part the blonde looks at him with a curiously guarded expression. 

Zayn clears his throat. “So, is there anything fun to do in Mullingar?” 

Niall shoots to his feet like a bullet from a starter gun, grinning madly, and the moment is gone. “Go karts! We can race go karts! There’s a track where we can rent them-”

“I don’t know if-”

“Come on! I won’t take no for an answer. You’ll love it, I promise!” Niall pulls him to his feet. “Follow me!” 

Zayn thinks that he’ll probably follow Niall anywhere. He is so _fucked_. 


End file.
